


Better With Two

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Character Study, Choices, M/M, Male Slash, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 14:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11420280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: Cesaro’s attitude change is a surprise to people, but not Sheamus. He just wishes Cesaro would stop eating olives in those cocktails and learn to love beard burn.





	Better With Two

 

 

 

It was amazing really, that people were surprised, like this was the first time for Cesaro. Sheamus grinned around the apple he was chewing; at the way people were eyeing them backstage now. Cesaro was talking to someone on his mobile. He was speaking Italian so Sheamus had no fucking clue what he was on about but he liked the sound of it. He licked his lips.

 

Cesaro’s eyes took on that look that made Sheamus grin even more and suck excess apple juice off his fingers. Cesaro’s mouth tightened and his talking got faster. Sheamus laughed, chunks of apple escaping his teeth. He was swiping them off his shirt and out of his beard when he caught sight of Bayley staring from a nearby doorway. She even looked hurt for some reason, like what he and Cesaro had done had been a personal attack on her. Like she was that important to them.

 

Cesaro finished his call and Bayley’s gaze got even more hurt. Ah, because he’d been good to her, a friend maybe, Sheamus couldn’t say. He didn’t care. Cesaro was next to him now, all fucking movie star suit and that aftershave that still made Sheamus sneeze. There wasn’t any space between them.

 

“You look different, Bayley,” Cesaro called to her, his smirk sounding fucking right round each word, aimed pointedly at her lack of gold.

 

Sheamus laughed; hurt spreading brighter across Bayley’s face. It kinda suited her. She’d look good crying. She didn’t even slam the door when she retreated into the room behind her. She’d learn, or she’d keep being a loser.

 

*

 

“I’d forgotten.”

 

Sheamus glanced up from the barbell he was trying to adjust; fucking thing itched whenever he wore it right now; he was thinking it was too tight. Cesaro was stood, stark-bollock naked, in front of the hotel mirror. He was examining a scar on his bicep and how his arm looked when he flexed it. The scar didn’t ruin it. Not that much could; under his suits Cesaro was like something outta history. Like he should be wrestling Bruno Sammartino or something.

 

“What’s that?” Sheamus asked, having no clue what Cesaro was musing about.

 

Cesaro’s reflection looked at him. “How good it felt.”

 

Sheamus’ grin was a sharp answer now. “What, winning?”

 

If it’d been anyone but Cesaro, he would have flipped Sheamus off but it was Cesaro so he just shook his head instead. Sheamus’ grin didn’t disappear and Cesaro’s reflected gaze stayed hooked on him. Sheamus slipped the barbell back into place amongst his stubble.

 

“Doing whatever the fuck you want,” he guessed again, fingers stroking the barbell. “Taking what you want.”

 

It was easy to get fucking plastered on a crowd’s cheers and end up following their lead without noticing and without getting to do everything you actually wanted to do. This was better.

 

Cesaro’s eyes were dark and hungry and Sheamus could feel his own mouth starting to water. He’d say he’d forgotten how good it felt to have a fuck buddy but Cesaro wouldn’t just roll his eyes then. Neither of them were liars anyway and what was the point in waiting?

 

They both moved. The mirror almost ended up in pieces.

 

*

 

Cesaro’s mouth tasted like the brine of olives and those fucking cocktails - it was fucking gross and Cesaro knew it. Or he tasted like the stupid foamy coffee he practically fucking lived on. One day, he’d drink a Guinness and like it. Thank fuck he was smart enough to like whiskey.

 

He was the strongest fucker Sheamus had ever met, able to clear a room without breaking a sweat and then frown because a button was sorta loose on his stupid shirt. He still looked good though, tweaking his suit back into place after a fight like he was James fucking Bond.

 

He could hold Sheamus up or down and Sheamus couldn’t break away, though it was a fucking fun evening of it to try. Cesaro enjoyed it too. Sheamus liked that and that he was the fucking cause, even if Cesaro whined about beard burn. When they won the tag team belts again, they’d do it with the belts on. That’d get Cesaro to shut up about the condition of his skin.

 

Sheamus didn’t have long-term tag team partners. There were fellas he’d teamed with because he wanted to fight and he wanted to win. There’d been the Nations but half of them were gone now because they couldn’t keep up with Sheamus who was still standing, right near the top again too. Like Cesaro and his catalogue of partners.

 

And Sheamus loved a fight and a pint, usually on the same night, and Cesaro liked a cocktail and dressing like he didn’t spend money on anything else but he _loved_ a fight too. When Sheamus caught sight of Cesaro’s face, in the ring or in a pub, when there was a ruckus going, the fucking joy there, it was so fucking close to how he felt. Sheamus hadn’t seen that in anyone else he’d teamed with before.

 

So all the mirrors could break and the fans could boo all they fucking wanted. What the fuck did Sheamus and Cesaro care? They were going to fucking fight and win however the fucking they wanted. Cesaro wasn’t going to stop downing olives though, Sheamus fucking knew it. Fucker smirked every time he ordered a cocktail. Fucking fine, he was gonna get beard burn all night long too.

 

_-the end_

 


End file.
